Flawless. Her eyes. Her hair. Her smile. The sound of her voice. The way she mumbled while she slept. The way she fluttered her eyelashes. There was not one thing wrong with Elena Gilbert. Flawless. Her imperfections were perfect. Her faults were right. I couldn't find a thing to hate her for. Not the way she'd look at me when I said something I shouldn't have. Not those nights when she didn't want to talk to me, so she slept away from me. Not the hours she spent hating me. I couldn't find a thing in this world that I didn't want her for.
I was bad, Satan she might've said. I killed people, I hurt feelings, I destroyed every bond to humanity that I had. But she dug deeper to find them. She dug deeper than I could. Whatever emotions that I buried she dug them back up. To her, stop meant go. Leave me alone was an invitation in. Get out of my head was work your way in. Danger didn't exist. My impulsive behaviour was expected.
She'd walk in not knowing if she'd walk out, but it didn't matter because she'd rather help me than leave me. Sometimes she'd tell me that I did what I did because of my past. I love too much, I hate too much, I've seen too much. I suppose she was right. She was always right. She'd also tell me, late at night when I couldn't fall asleep, that I didn't mean to be like this. That it wasn't my fault. That nothing was my fault. She was only wrong when she said that. Everything was my fault. I loved too much, I hated too much, I'd seen too much. It was my fault.
She'd tell me that I should wear more colours. When I'd say, "I look better in black", she'd say, "you may, but shouldn't I decide?" I never wore colours even after she'd say that. She'd tell me to be nicer to people. I'd tell her I'm not going to adopt a puppy because I'm not a nice person. She'd only say, "you are."
She seemed to love to tell me to be nice to Stefan. I'd agree with her, but only so that I could say: "You're right, he has enough problems." But I never really was nice to Stefan. Ever. I thought he deserved it. The eternal hatred of his older brother.
I think she'd be proud of me if she saw what I'm like now. I wear colours. Blues and greens and browns and grays. I wear different socks like she used to. I got her a puppy. As much as it hates me, it would have liked her. I'm nicer to Stefan. We don't talk, but it means we don't fight. I only drink from blood bags. I've never slipped, even after everything.
I never stopped talking to her. Every morning I talk to her. She never talks back, but I figure she has some witty comments she's waiting to say. I always wonder where she is. What's she's doing. If she's okay. I didn't believe in much before Elena stumbled into my life, but I guess anything is possible. I hope she is okay.
She didn't hate anyone. There was not one person I could think of that hated her either. Everyone hated me. I guess we were a strange couple. We'd go to the movies and watch stupid films. We'd go to IKEA and lounge on the furniture. We'd walk through the parks just to hold hands. She made me soft. I regret that I let her make me soft. But I never regret being with her. She was the best thing in my life. The only thing I had going for me. She wasn't even really mine. I stole her, from Stefan, yes, but I stole her away from her life. She had friends until we hung out. She had places to go and people to meet. But we'd spend days together. I never wanted to be away from her because I feared turning back to what I knew. To blood and alcohol. To murdering innocent girls. To meaningless sex and late nights.
And in a way I have gone back to my old self a little. I think that's why the dog hates me. I never take him out for walks because I'm never home. I'm never home because I'm at the Grill, getting drunk. If I were human I'd be an alcoholic. A bad one. But I'm not human. I'm never drunk enough. I'm never drunk enough to forget her. She's never out of my head and it sucks. But in a way it's good. I have hallucinations when I'm really drunk sometimes. I don't know how normal that is but I still see her. She falls asleep beside me every night. Sometimes if I wake up and I'm still drunk, she's cuddling against me, pressing cold kisses to my hands. She's always so cold. I can never make her warm. I'm never good enough. I never was.
I wish she was still here. She could meet the dog. I really wish she met him. She'd love him. Big floppy ears, golden hair. I named him Teddy. After her bear. She loved that bear. She brought it over to the boardinghouse so it could sit on the nightstand while we slept. If I wasn't in love with her, I might have thought it was childish. She was eighteen years old. But I thought it was adorable. Her. Her love for everything. Everything about her was adorable.
I hope she knows I'm standing at her grave. I always stand at her grave. There's too many flowers I can barely move. They're all from me. Red roses, her favourite. She used to love when I gave her red roses. I hope she knows I still think about her all the time.
It drives me crazy. Stefan said I should move on, but how could I? How could I move on when my entire purpose, the meaning up my existence, is dead.